


We're Both Too Young (To Give In To Forever)

by larrinfinity



Series: Off-screen [3]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt, I'm Sorry, Isak discredits Even's feelings because of his mental illness, Just Mentions of Him, M/M, Oh, SO, also, and, and I just want to make it clear that's not okay at all?, and emotionally, and eskild is also a great friend, and we all know he comes to his senses later, because I'm a sucker for it, but he's in a really dark place mentally, kudos to eskild, loooooooads of, no actual Even in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 06:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9371444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larrinfinity/pseuds/larrinfinity
Summary: Whatmaybehappened after Even's breakdown





	

**Author's Note:**

> Original tumblr post [here](https://evaknaesen.tumblr.com/post/155849169407/3-off-screen-series-what-maybe-happened).
> 
> Title and initial chapter lyrics from 'Lost Boy' by Troye Sivan

> We knew from the beginning,   
>  that this wasn’t never ending  
>  Shouldn’t stay too long  
>  ‘cause we’re both too young  
>  to give in to forever

**Lørdag, 01.17:**

There’s lead in his heart.

Through his own struggles, growing up every second of each day with someone completely unstable, watching his father ticking harder for each of those seconds until the day he just up and left, Isak had never felt _this_.

In all the moments he thought he’d shown Even too much, all the moments he thought he’d overplayed his feelings, had given away too much of himself, even before they amounted to anything, he had never felt this much of a fool.

He feels used, feels raw. And it’s not even as if he was lied to, because being lied to implies the person who did it has the bare minimum concern about him finding out. This just… feels as though Even couldn’t bother to tell him there was something wrong, because Isak was not someone he’d keep around for long, anyway.

Maybe he always knew that at some point his bad episodes would come, and it’d be an easy way out from Isak. It’d be an easy way to leave. Or maybe all of this, all of his infatuation, his fickle passion, were nothing but a long manic episode. It was probably never something beyond what his fitful mind tricked him into believing.

Isak let himself be tricked along.

Had his plan been to have some change of scenery, all along? To have some fun with Isak before he ran back to Sonja, _again_? Was this how it was always meant to happen? Isak hoping, for once, to have something that genuinely made him _feel_ , while all along Even knew he’d be back to _her_?

All he can think about as he wanders aimlessly is how, right now, it’s not _his_ bed Even is climbing onto; it’s not _his_ sheets he’s wrapping himself in, it’s not _his_ face he’ll see in the morning, not his touch he’ll crave in the first hours of the day.

But it's Isak who has to go back to the bed they last shared and pick up all they've left, including, maybe, the shreds of Isak’s heart, tangled in the mess they've made of the sheets. He's pretty sure part of his soul never left that hotel room, and he wonders whether Even's was even there with his at all.

The streets are dark and he can still smell Even's clothes in his hands, though Sonja took everything with her. He can still feel Even's last kiss to his lips, and the ghost of his hands all over Isak's back, his hips, his hair. How can someone imprint themselves so permanently into someone else's body? Isak doesn't even feel like he belongs to himself, anymore. Is this shell meant to be his? Because all it knows, now, is Even, and his body, his mind, his soul - or what he thought was Even, but apparently isn't.

It's possible Isak gave all of himself away to a non-existent man. How does one demand what's theirs back when the person who took it isn’t even real?

He's so  _lost_.

The warm moist in his face is stark against the cold of the night, his breath caught right in front of his face, the shapes of the city blurred in his vision, much like the threads of the several thoughts in his head. None of them have a clear beginning or a definitive end, instead just coexisting in this nest of uncertainty and confusion and  _hurt_.

_What was I to him?_

_Did I mean to him at least half of what he does to me?_

_Do you think he’s in love with you? He’s not. It’s just some sick idea he’s got right now._

He can't _breathe_ , and isn't that what it always felt like around Even? Like there was never enough air for him, for Even always took everything. It just took Isak too long to realise that  _everything_  also included every inch of himself. He should've seen it coming earlier.

Like this, walking in the dark, trying to find some sense of hope to hold on to, but finding nothing but oceans and oceans of hollowness instead, it feels too much like a repeat of weeks ago, losing Even for a second time, to the same person.

_Did I ever have him?_

Isak can't. He just can't stand Even right now, for lying to him, for playing him like this; he can't stand Sonja, for shoving the truth all over his face; but mostly, he can't stand himself, for letting himself fall for a farce. Walking in this body, standing in these feet, losing himself inside this mind, it's too much, at the same time it's not enough. It's a tsunami of feelings that meets only emptiness at the shore, losing its power when finding nothing to crash against, nothing to destroy.

At some point, Isak just sits by the curb and hears the cars driving by. His chest rises and falls in complete disaccord to everything around him. It's doesn't go with the beat of his heart, nor the frenzied pace of his thoughts, nor the tires burning against the asphalt. It doesn't go with the loud voices of a lonely group of friends in the silent night, it doesn't go with their uncoordinated steps, nor with the way the clouds start unravelling above him.

It follows its own panicked staccato, his breaths falling short and loud before him. Isn't breathing meant to be an involuntary thing?

_So why can't he do it, still?_

His phone burns a hole in his pocket, his fingers itching to text Sonja, ask her to bring his man back, but Even isn't his man. Isak means nothing to him, and even if he did, he's not sure he could handle the uncertainty of being with someone so unpredictable.

He certainly couldn't handle his mother. Neither could his dad.

These pages are stained, the story too tainted, no matter which book they belong to.

Walking back to the hotel proves to be the hardest thing he's done his whole life, shame engraved in every bone of his, Even's absence by his side screaming louder than any of his pleas, everyone's eyes in the reception falling on him with concern and pity.

"Is everything okay?" The receptionist asks once he walks past her.

_Okay. Ha._

"He's gone home," is all he says. Admitting out loud Sonja is his home is even more painful than it had been admitting it inside his head.

If it's possible, even the elevator smells of Even. It lights all of his senses, flashes of their kisses burning in front of his eyes, the carpet of the hallway dragging his feet along as fast as Even had dragged him to the room, the walls calling for his back where it had pressed against them a few hours earlier, hot with Even's touch.

 _I love you_ , he'd wanted to say, but never got the chance to, too entertained by their body language to remember it was supposed to exist a spoken one.

Opening the door to the room, no one trailing behind him this time, no extra set of breathing by his ear, Isak just collapses.

Here, he's too high for the sounds of the first hours to echo, too late for the sounds of life to manifest.

The bed receives him unlike any other time, and there he stays for God knows how long. Static fills his ears, his cries subsiding and despair settling in silently, giving him no way to vent it out. He's slowly choking.

It's never been this low.

He tosses and turns too many times to count, the ceiling staring back at him in defiance. The windows show him a world he's not ready to face. The door is asking him to leave, to forget. The pillows tell him here's the last of this reverie, make the most of it.

Isak cries some more before he's finally able to get up again.

Even's wallet and phone are lying on the bedside table, his backpack thrown next to Isak’s on the floor where they discussed wedding plans. 

He gathers it all and doesn't look back, not bothering to check twice whether he forgot anything. Nothing would ever be missed more than what he already lost tonight, anyway.

At the reception, he leaves Even's backpack with everything he owns inside and Sonja's number, so she can come pick it up at some point.

His misery only enhances when he realises  _he_  will be the one responsible for checking out, with no money on him at all, and having no clue what is Even's credit card password.

Since Isak's pride has already been stepped and run over in every possible way in just a matter of hours, he doesn't think much before dialling Eskild's number and waiting on the line as it rings, once, twice, thrice-

"It's three in the morning, Isak, you better not be fucking with me."

The lump in his throat triples its size, the need to sob returning full force. He holds it back.

"Can you come pick me up, please? And bring your credit card? I promise I'll pay you later."

Something in his tone must give him away, because he can hear Eskild rushing up before he even speaks again.

"What did you do now, Issy?" the question isn’t harsh, merely playful.

Isak still breaks. "Even just-" a sob, a soft cry, a muffled scream.

"I'm coming. Just text me where you are and I'll be there in five, okay?"

Isak doesn't tell him he won't be able to make it in five, no matter how fast he runs. The thought is what counts, after all.

This is the last time Eskild rescues him.

He _vows_.

**Author's Note:**

> same old, same old, if you enjoyed it leave some love ♡ and come [talk to me](https://evaknaesen.tumblr.com/) on tumblr xx


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